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After his Image

~ Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics

After his Image

Tag Archives: death

Prodigal

23 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Apocalypse, comet, death, love, Poem, Poetry, Religion, sex

A stumbling block, all her own,
tumbling towards rock bottom,
yet home, in way of head o’er heels,
the only place for two left feet, named evil and sinister,
to dance the night away,
her time in the spotlight,
perhaps even another prodigal path,
ultimately to bid that final farewell
and rest among stardom.
Her ashes to be expelled by tears
and thunders of a father raped about
in that same vicious circle of life,
destruction and chaos.

There was an eternal feast.
She had fetched her pail of ice water
as ointment to wash her feet
and to rinse the sweat from her brow into wine
in this ritual of holiness.

The draw was irresistible
with forces greater than good
  stronger than evil,
  more timeless than love
with her depths warming from frigid void
to fires of fulfillment.

Those last miles bear stretch marks to forever,
like a pot never boiling with a stare.
Still, like a Zen master she danced
through his rock garden and past
the flicker-red of lamppost

onto the porch, by the door
with its dew-moist blue mat,
bidding “Welcome” to night travelers,
though off limits to wayward sisters.

“Perhaps this once,” she thought.
She shifted her weight
to stumble that last time.

Father mourned
glorious rage.
All of men beheld her beauty
with awe.

The quickening tremors of the land
were fired from her mistake;
the failing hearts of men to break
in falling reprimand.

(written for DversePoets, with Kelvin prompting us to use idioms)

(note: clues to the meaning are in the tags, if one was inclined to look)

Sine Amore

19 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

death, depression, love, music, Poem, Poetry, redemption, shepard tones, sound, suicide

image

I can see you going down to death
with all the hope of losing love’s last breath
that parts the meaning to a muddled soul
where pain and blood are cut from severed whole.
If you wish to pierce the ending wound,
Do it quickly. See yourself marooned
as light from life departs unholy crown,
you’ll find that Death will meet you halfway down.

Should you see a way to joyous light,
I’d hope you’ll spread those wings in soaring flight.
As womb through pain gives might to newborn life,
the tomb last gains the weakened man from strife.
The troubled days must break the toughest soil –
Redeem your depths with love’s bejewelled toil.

(note:  There was a musical effect I was attempting to affect here.  To sample it better, I’d suggest vocalizing either stanza repeatedly (the effect in one is the opposite of the other).  After trying to hear it (or if you want to cheat), I was attempting to use the vowel sounds to achieve this effect.  Please comment on how this worked with your reading of the poem)

(note #2: posted for Open Link Night at DversePoets)

[Ageing Schoolmaster]

18 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry Reading

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

ageing, Ageing Schoolmaster, children, death, life, poetry reading, school, spokenverse, vernon scannell, youth

by Vernon Scannell
And now another autumn morning finds me With chalk dust on my sleeve and in my breath, Preoccupied with vague, habitual speculation On the huge inevitability of death. Not wholly wretched, yet knowing absolutely That I shall never reacquaint myself with joy, I sniff the smell of ink and chalk and my mortality And think of when I rolled, a gormless boy, And rollicked round the playground of my hours, And wonder when precisely tolled the bell Which summoned me from summer liberties And brought me to this chill autumnal cell From which I gaze upon the april faces That gleam before me, like apples ranged on shelves, And yet I feel no pinch or prick of envy Nor would I have them know their sentenced selves. With careful effort I can separate the faces, The dull, the clever, the various shapes and sizes, But in the autumn shades I find I only Brood upon death, who carries off all the prizes.

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